No post last night because by the time we got home and I took care of some "needs to be done now" tasks it was bedtime. Didn't want to throw up something shallow and gratuitous.
Thought I'd save that for today.
Athletes get to wear uniforms with numbers. All the way back to Little League and Pee Wee Football the athletes get to wear outfits that identify them both as part of a group and as distinct from all the others - their name and number emblazoned on the back.
I've decided I suffered life-altering emotional trauma because I didn't get to wear one of those uniforms.
I should have. They should have provided us kids in the orchestra with uni's. They could make it trick, too. The string section gets a slightly different color combo than the brass players, the woodwinds a third.... (Percussion players get plain black shirts because they tend to drool on themselves and it doesn't show on black.) All of us in the cello section would get a two-digit number beginning with 8, the first violins get numbers in the 20's, the second violins the 30's and so on.
Why wouldn't cellists get numbers in the 40's? Because I want to be known as Ocho Uno! Yeah, I want to change my name so everybody knows I am the first chair cellist in the Ballard High School Orchestra! (Quatro Uno sounds like an Audi model.)
But it's too late for all of that. Which is why I'm proposing that preachers get jerseys with their name and number on the back.
I was up in the attic over the garage at 7 a.m. wiring in a new outlet for the 4', two tube fluorescent light I bought Monday. It gets too hot up there too quickly to wait any beyond that. Got the outlet installed and then hung the light, only to find out one of two tubes works. My guess is a problem inside the fixture, like a connection that isn't tight. I'll take it apart in the next few days to see if I can find the problem. If not I'll just return it.
This afternoon I went to the adult side of the clinic to relocate a Cat-5 cable. Should have taken an hour, not three, but Murphy came along to give me company. It's metal stud construction and even the interior walls are filled with insulation, which gave me fits getting the cable fed down the inside of the wall. Oh well.
The NFL - grown men acting like 3rd graders.
We could very easily have the NFL, MLB and the NBA all in labor disputes at the same time. Bring on professional curling!
The lily pond changes daily, with new leaves emerging from each of the five pots. And when it reaches the surface each new leaf is bigger than its predecessors.
In the "be careful what you wish for" department, we have someone taking attention away from Sarah Palin and Michelle Bachman.
Sometimes life goes wrong. Nobody's fault; it's not because anyone did anything they shouldn't have. Theologically speaking the root cause is the sin that infects and affects everything. And I think it helps to remember that so we don't get consumed with a victim mentality, thinking we've somehow been singled out for pain and heartache. The question is not, "Why me?" but "Why not me?" That is, what's so special about me that I should be exempt from troubles?
But it's still pain, and hurt and heart-ripping struggle.
I think the best we can do is hold on to each other. It's essential that nobody feel alone, that they have the undeniable sense people care. Not that they can do anything to make it better, or even that they fully understand the pain. But they care enough to reach out.
We - I - won't get it right all the time, but I want to try.
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